


On This Day

by artisan447



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cowboys, Holiday, M/M, Out West, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-07
Updated: 2006-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisan447/pseuds/artisan447
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Christmas story. Really. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Charlotte for somehow finding the time to beta, and even come up with missing words in spots that needed them. And thanks also to my good friend Gen, who wouldn't know one cowboy from another, yet still said all the right things.

It's cold, damn cold, but he barely notices--his heavy coat keeps out the worst of it and he's not one to fuss about the weather anyway. He sits easy in the saddle, vaguely registering the creak and flex of well-oiled leather as Peso shifts beneath him, but for the most part he's only looking outward.

Beautiful. He's already come by the tallest of the desert pinnacles--giants that filled the air with the weight of their many years, he paid them quiet tribute as he passed through their shadows. Solid and majestic in the moonlight they towered over him and crowded out the sky, but here, high on the ridge, he knows the view across the valley will be spectacular when the sun rises.

Leaning forward he rests one forearm on the pommel and stares at the lightening gray he knows to be the horizon, his breath as it fogs out into the stillness the only interruption to what promises to be a magnificent view of the dawn.

But it's not enough. He settles his weight back and closes his eyes, wanting more than the ease of sight. On this day he needs to feel. He slows and measures his breathing, freeing other senses to grow and expand, gathering the detail into himself until the parts overlap to become solid and the pictures form in his mind.

Smells.

Steadily he breathes--in, then out, the frigid desert air in sharp contrast to the acrid smoke of the town's watch fires. Thinner, lighter, clean, it opens his mind, stirring a memory-sense of damp soil and running water and morning dew on leaves.

Sounds.

Quiet chirping and scuttling that tells of small creatures and smaller insects; easy to hear for someone who knows how, even when the piercing call of winged predators overlies them. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls its greeting to the new day and the air is rich with life. He can almost believe, should he listen hard enough, that he would hear the rocks expand.

It settles him like nothing else can, this quiet noise--the soft pulse of earth and nature a confirmation of the enduring pace of the universe. He's been unsettled lately, unsure of his place; has almost forgotten where he fits in the fabric of being. It's too long since he's taken time out to breathe and he's glad to have made the effort on this day. He draws in a deeper breath, filling his lungs with renewal and peace, calming as it flows into his blood and travels every inch of his body. Working its way into the cracks and crevices, it shores up his spirit.

Stilling further, he centers his balance then drops the reins and rests both hands lightly on his thighs. Eyes still closed, he turns his face into the breeze that ghosts over the exposed skin of face and hands. He should be wearing gloves, it's cold enough, but today he wants no barriers so he has folded them carefully into the saddlebag with the supplies Chris helped him pack for the trail home.

Home. He forces the air out of his chest then drags in another, deeper breath. Four Corners is home. Chris and Buck are home. It warms him to know they'll be there, solid, dependable, somewhere he can settle when he's taken the time he needs for himself. He doesn't know why he can't put down roots like they have, like other people do. But then he doesn't much care. Just the chance to soak in the joy of a love like theirs is more than he's ever dared to hope for himself.

His mouth curves in a half smile at the memory of how Chris was with him this morning. Stubborn fool should have been tucked up next to Buck, not shivering by the stove in his underwear. They barely spoke as Chris fussed over the coffeepot and Vin gathered supplies, but then it really wasn't a time for words--especially on this day when each knew what the other wanted and their need was so opposed.

It says something that Chris would do that--leave his warm bed and face Buck's teasing just to send him on his way. Seems more like the Chris he knows to keep his distance from worrisome things that he can't change. It shows how far they've come and the small changes they've each made to fit themselves together.

He remembers too how, when they finished, Chris dragged him into a close embrace, kissing him hard and whispering in his ear, "we'll save you some eggnog, 'cause sure as hell, Buck's gonna make it no matter what I say." He shakes his head at the memory. Chris might bitch about Buck's love of tradition but he doesn't fool anyone. He'd walk on hot coals if Buck was of a mind to talk him into it and they all know it.

Knowing it's time he opens his eyes to watch the new day born, seeing in its display a reflection of everything his lovers bring to his life--strength, commitment, fire. And love enough to let him go when he needs it.

Peso shifts restlessly, impatient with their stillness, and he absently strokes the broad neck.

"Steady," he murmurs, taking up the reins again and narrowing his eyes, his own energy building along with the fiery blaze that races up over the horizon.

He closes his eyes, feeling a rush of gratitude for this new day, and for a brief moment wishes he believed in a higher being to which he could give thanks.

He'll stay here a while and pay his respects to the dawn in what has become his own tradition to mark this day, knowing that this day holds a promise of more when his ritual is done.

_continued in chapter 2..._


	2. Chapter 2

He stirs out of a deep sleep when a body slides into the bed, flinching when cold hands and feet plant onto his warm skin. "Sorry," the voice murmurs in his ear, "go back to sleep." Even barely awake, he can hear the smile.

"You're an evil prick, Larabee," he bitches without opening his eyes, gathering the chilled body close. "You could at least put your boots on if you're gonna be up in the middle of the night."

His only answer is the satisfying warmth of a mouth over his own and he sighs into the kiss, settling back into the mattress and arranging the familiar body till it fits perfectly over his own.

"Don't need boots..." Chris sounds disgustingly smug when he eventually lifts his head, "...got me my own personal heat supply right here."

Buck can't help but chuckle as Chris fits himself closer, wincing at the prickle of the rough mattress into his back as the slighter bulk molds to the angles and planes of his larger body. Chris has been talking about getting a new mattress since he took a liking to the linen-covered, wool stuffed number he slept on in Ridge City and Buck can't say as how he'll miss this one. It'll be worth making a bigger bed as well, he thinks with a grin, considering how much time they've been spending here since Vin started coming out regular.

He slides both hands down Chris's back. Even the muscled ass is chilled and he strokes the firm cheeks, coaxing the heat back into them. The sigh into his neck is warm air and not much more and he smiles again, barely flinching this time when cold hands burrow up into his armpits; instead he tilts his head to press a kiss on tousled hair.

"You wanna fool around?" he murmurs. More asleep than not, even he's impressed that his body's showing interest. But it's hardly surprising really, he'd have to be dead for his dick to not respond with Chris draped over him the way he is. Still, he doesn't care much either way--he knows he'll be buried in his lover before they leave the bed this day and he sure as hell doesn't care about timing.

"Mmmm." The sound against his neck is more vibration than speech and he tilts his chin up, making room for the lips that trail up and over his jaw to seek out his mouth. The kisses are soft, exploring--seeking more comfort than heat--and it's not long before they trail off into nothingness. They're both still for long moments, Chris's head on his chest, only the irregular pop and spit from the stove breaking the silence in the small cabin.

He leaves one hand where it is and smoothes the other absently over back and ribs, resisting the temptation to drift off. It's something special, this weight on his chest that restricts his breathing, and he's not about to deny himself the pleasure. There are worse things, in his experience, than having his lover press the air out of his lungs.

But he forces himself more fully awake after a while because he knows by the odd tension in Chris's body that he isn't sleeping and won't, even if he wants to, talk without prompting.

"Vin get off ok?" he asks, knowing the answer.

A quiet "yeah" is what he gets back and then a cold nose rubs against his neck, "seemed happy to be heading out."

It's what he expects to hear, that resigned tone, and he tightens his arms. "It's what he needs, Chris," he says, and he, at least, knows it's the truth, "and you know he'll be even happier to come home when it's time."

He gets a grunt in reply and this time he stays silent. They've both sensed Vin's increasing restlessness, but everything that needs saying has already been said. He knows too, that it's Christmas that makes it worse; Vin's need for space clashing with Chris's need to hold on, the feelings stronger for each of them on this day.

It's a puzzle not many would understand, that his lover, the most natural leader he's known exactly because he can let go and give his men the freedom to be their best, finds it hard to do the same at home. A product of what he's lost in the past--when it comes to those he loves, Chris instinctively holds and controls, more possessive than most of what he holds dear.

But Buck doesn't feel the need to be in the middle of the three of them like he once did. They're all careful to guard what they have and they've learned enough to mostly get it right. Chris's battle is more internal these days and Vin's smart enough to not react beyond standing his ground.

He wriggles a little and opens his legs to settle Chris more firmly, delighting in the strength and determined resilience of his lovers--even if that sometimes puts them at odds with each other, at odds with him. Doesn't always make for easy relations but with something this good, he's pretty sure easy is overrated. Chris is Chris--stubborn and ornery but not burying that sweet, caring side of his quite so deep these days; and Vin is Vin, independent, and sometimes stubborn but with a quiet complexity that drew Buck and Chris like a beacon.

But they're not alone there, he thinks, amused. Something about that helpful, respectful manner of Vin's has nearly every woman in town, from Gloria Potter to Mary Travis thinking he needs 'looking after'. Pretty funny, really--Vin has more toughness in his little finger than most men Buck's met and a strength born from doing for himself for far too long. So it's something Buck cherishes--that since Vin hooked up with him and Chris, he doesn't have to do for himself anymore, even though he's not used to letting go, leaning on someone, anyone, with strength to spare. But he figures it's okay that Vin's taking a little time to work out there's a difference between falling and leaning, because he knows, when Vin commits he'll do it all the way, without holding anything back.

He leaves a last, lingering kiss on Chris's head and finally gives in to the pull of sleep, counting himself a lucky man.


	3. Chapter 3

He wakes slowly, sprawled three-quarters on his belly, tugged out of a deep sleep by the warmth that trails down his spine. Like a curious limpet, it pauses over each of the knobby bones, exploring, sucking, warming the skin, and then trailing on to repeat at the next. The heat left behind takes on a life of its own, spreading and expanding, each small point of pleasure merging with the next till together they spark a more potent fire.

Encouraged by the hand that snakes over his ribs, he wakes more and stretches, making space for the fingers that burrow under his chest. Instinctively, he lifts one arm high and rolls back a little, rewarded when the exploring mouth moves around to tease at his nipple. The surge of pleasure is sudden and enervating and he lets his arm drop, his hand finding its natural place in his lover's thick hair.

"Buck--" His mind is heavy with sleep and the single word scratches from his throat; he can't yet form a thought beyond appreciation of the skillful awakening of his body.

The mouth moves away and the resulting cold air against wet skin makes him shiver.

"Well it sure ain't Santa Claus."

He smiles at the joke and then the mouth is back. Buck spoons up close behind and he finally registers his hardness. One step ahead, Buck is already slick and Chris's desire spikes at that promise.

"Good," he manages, as Buck pushes a knee between his thighs and tugs Chris's leg up over his own, " 'cause I'm not that desperate to be chasin' after a fat man in a red suit."

Buck rocks deliberately against him, and the voice in his ear is far too knowing. "Oh, I don't know," he whispers, "I reckon we'll see about desperate." Then Buck's moving again, twisting to reach behind him and Chris pushes back to renew their body contact, desire and need growing with every touch of that hard body against his.

He doesn't have to wait long for the hand to return and this time it's Buck who makes a space between them. Lightly, almost gentle, Buck strokes between his buttocks, greasing from top to bottom, barely teasing the puckered opening on each pass.

Entirely focused on the deliberate strokes, Chris turns his face into the pillow, relishing the anticipation. Much as he wants to, he forces himself not to touch his own hardening flesh, making do with the barely-there friction of the bed as he rocks between it and Buck's hand. It's a game, to see who gives in first, and since Buck started before him he's pretty confident...

Suddenly one finger presses inside him firmly and he jerks back into the pressure. He hears Buck chuckle and then the finger is gone and he can't hold back his grunt of frustration--Buck knows every trigger he has and isn't above playing him like a fish on a line.

"Steady on there, Stud," the teasing mouth is right over his ear, "thought you weren't that desperate."

He pushes back harder, demanding more, using his own leg to force Buck's thigh tight against his balls. "C'mon Buck," he urges, giving up the game, driven by feeling he hasn't the slightest desire to control.

It's enough, and this time two fingers work inside him, stretching and teasing. His heart is racing, skin beading with sweat, and it seems every nerve ending has migrated to that one incredible point of pleasure.

He loves this--the way Buck knows him inside and out, understands what he wants and needs even if the bastard would rather tease. It surprised him, that he could let go like this with Buck. He never thought he'd want to, or be able to even if he did--it's a kind of knowing that demands a trust he'd not thought himself capable of giving. But it's more than easy with Buck, it's something he needs like breathing, and maybe it's time he gave that same trust to Vin too. Didn't take much for Vin to slip under his guard and there's no telling where they might all end up if he just gives them a chance.

The fingers are replaced by a larger, blunter pressure and all other thought ceases as Buck pushes steadily in, not pausing or stopping to let him adjust and he can't contain his groan--it's as if Buck is pushing it up and out of him till it bursts out of his throat in a long primal sound. Buck's hips jerk hard in reaction and he presses forward, forcing Chris onto his stomach, plunging all the way into his body. The husky "oh yeah" that he murmurs vibrates right through Chris's skin, setting his heart to pounding double time.

He can hardly breathe--face mashed into the pillow, the weight of Buck over and around him--but somehow he gathers enough breath to urge Buck on, panting and gasping out the words with every press of that hard body into his. The feeling is exquisite, a riot of sensation that flows from the join of their bodies as if a thousand tiny floodgates have been flung open. And still Buck thrusts; again and again until Chris is coming hard, his entire body jerking and contracting as Buck shouts his own completion and slumps, boneless, against his back.

Breathless, he manages to turn his head, gasping in air like a drowning man until Buck shifts and rolls, his arm a tight band around Chris's hips to keep them joined, dragging him back as much as the narrow bed allows and onto his side.

Panting, sated, stuck together, they're still for long moments. Strong hands move over his skin--gentling, stroking, soothing--until Buck moves and falls out of him, and this time it's Buck who groans with the loss.

"That fat man in the suit shows up, I'm gonna have to get territorial," comes the satisfied rumble into his neck as one large hand rubs circles over his belly, and he turns his head enough to receive a sloppy kiss.

"Idiot," he smiles and reaches up a lazy hand to touch his lover's face. The blue eyes are half-lidded with pleasure but in the half-light of the new dawn he can see enough to find the warmth and sparkle that belong just to him.

He knows there is much still to be resolved on this day, but right now he needs nothing more than this.


	4. Chapter 4

It's late when he wakes again but that's no surprise considering his interrupted sleep. He smiles at the memory of his last waking and stretches out an arm. The bed is cold--Buck's been up a while. He turns lethargically toward the closed door and listens for sounds outside.

Muffled clattering and Buck's muted baritone working its way through Deck the Halls--an eggnog-making combination if ever he's heard it.

He smiles and rolls back onto his belly envying Buck's way of living in the moment and letting the rest look after itself. But no matter how much he wishes it was different it's not his way and he can't help but worry on what the future might bring.

Truth be known h's in no hurry to greet this day. Vin will be back later and he'll tell them if he's leaving or staying. He's not said anything outright, but Chris knows that's what's on his mind. He's more like Buck, Vin is, gathering his happiness where he can and not looking back. Or forward too much either, just meeting each new challenge without sense of fear or failure. Spending most of your life with only yourself to rely on will do that to a man, but it can also make him wary of ties, and it feels to him like Vin might have decided it's time to move on.

He should welcome his friend finding a resolution to his unease but he's too selfish for that. Because he's just settling in to this thing the three of them have and he's not ready to hear what he's afraid Vin will say. Not unless it's 'yes' and 'I'm staying' and 'Fool thing to do, gettin' up from the two of you on Christmas mornin'.' And he doesn't care that Vin won't say that even if he decides it--the man's too independent by half, and it ain't wasted on Chris, that he's the one thinking such a thing. Independent, or Vin and him would never have gotten along. Self-sufficient, or Vin wouldn't have trusted him and Buck when each of them said yeah, this could work, yeah, give us a try.

Damn it. He groans and drags a pillow over his head, hiding a while longer, taking the time to remind himself of the good things he has to hold close on this day.

* * *

"You awake yet Stud?" Buck's arm snakes over his shoulder and across his chest and pulls him back snug against his muscled length.

He doesn't bother to answer; just leans back into the warmth, shifting his weight from one bare foot to the other, continuing to pour his coffee.

"Wear you out this morning?" comes the smug query as the hand slips lower to rub over his belly, and he turns, settling his ass against the bench.

"Yeah, right," he scoffs, cradling the mug in both hands and taking a sip, smiling up over the rim into sparkling blue eyes.

"Could always go again if you're feelin' up to it--" Buck's intent is clear as he steals the mug, then uses both hands on Chris's ass to pull him closer, grinding them together.

He reacts to the blatant invitation by leaning forward and pressing his tongue into Buck's mouth. For long minutes they breathe together till he works his hand between them and squeezes Buck's groin hard. He laughs out loud as Buck gasps in a breath and arches away. "Hey!"

"Just checking the equipment," he grins, reaching out to tug Buck back into place, rubbing more gently against him. "You keep on like this you're gonna wear something out."

"Yeah, well you go grabbing at it like that and you'll do more than wear it out." Buck's brow is furrowed but his eyes are still sparkling and it's easy to see he's only faking.

Grinning, he leans back to retrieve his mug then pushes past, leaning in to murmur in his partner's ear. "Better pace yourself, Stud." He swats Buck on the ass as he passes and at the door he pauses and looks back. With six for lunch they'll be cooking outdoors--there's a haunch of the venison Vin brought home last week hanging ready and it's too big to cook any other way. "You want to give me a hand to set up the fire?"

Buck hasn't moved but he's smiling, a wicked grin that promises retribution before this day is out.

"Ok, but before we do that, come taste the eggnog. I got a new recipe this year, figured it'd be a good time to try something new."

"Buck--"

"Aw, c'mon Chris, don't give me that 'I hate the stuff' line," he wheedles. "I been up for hours--even rode over to Maisie Grey's with the pail to get fresh cream and eggs. Ain't no one here but you and me and I need a taste tester."

He shakes his head, continuing out the door. If he were the kind of man who muttered under his breath he'd sure as hell be doing it now. He never has been able to say no to Buck when he's set on something so it's not likely he'll start on this day.


	5. Chapter 5

It's strange how content he is to let the conversation wash over and around him this way. Well, not strange really, the boys in full flight would wear anyone down, and with Vin absent and Nathan having left already, it's like the rest of them are trying to fill in the space. So he shouldn't be surprised he's ready to settle, even when the others are still going flat out.

Truth is he feels calmer than he would have thought possible, peaceful. Languorous even. Yeah, that's the word--languorous. Shame he couldn't have come up with that when he could still wrap his tongue around the word, Ezra's eyes would have bugged out of his head.

He stares into what's left of his whisky and huffs out a laugh, truth be known he's more than a little drunk. And that'd be all Buck's fault--if the bastard made him taste the damn eggnog once today he made him taste it a hundred times. And everyone knows he can't stand the stuff.

He looks over to where the others are sprawled around the table, trying to work out who's winning, but it was hard enough to tell when he was still playing and he's got no hope from here. JD's excitement with his board game is apparent, and the others are playing along. By the way the noise level is increasing they probably have an hour or two in them yet.

It's been a good day. He can admit it inside his own head because he knows enough to appreciate the good things that come his way. He'd probably even say it out loud if pressed, the way this day's been going.

But this new chair Nettie sent over as thanks for helping her out is too soft, and he's too comfortable and he really ought to get up and put the coffee on-- He lets his lids drift slowly closed and the sound of his friends flow over and around him.

* * * *

"It's beyond the bounds of conceivability, Mr Dunne."

"Aw c'mon Ezra, it's what the rules say, you have to go back."

"Back? My dear boy, the square is 'Gambling'. It should be obvious to anyone of intelligence that one should move forward -- to 'Wealth'."

"No Ezra." JD leans forward, pointing earnestly at the board. "Look--see? If you land on 'Gambling' you have to go back to 'Ruin'. You only get to go on to 'Wealth' if you land on 'Industry'."

Buck leans his chair back on two legs and snickers into his whiskey. Just the idea of JD trying to explain a morality game to Ezra is funny enough, but the reality has to be the best entertainment he's had in a while.

"I can assure you the puritan concept does not escape me, JD, but what is the point if one does not take into account the realities of life? Josiah, perhaps you would care to arbitrate here."

Josiah's lips twitch but he does an admirable job of keeping a straight face as he leans forward over the board. After a long pause he nods and confirms the ruling. "It's a fact Ezra, have to back JD on this one. Says right here that 'Gambling' leads to 'Ruin', just like 'Idleness' leads to 'Disgrace'."

"May the good Lord save us all from such moral ruin," Ezra rolls his eyes.

"That's the whole point," JD interrupts. "It's why it's called the Checkered Game of Life." He leans over and pulls a printed page out of the box. "It's supposed to help you avoid the stumbling blocks of..." he lists them one by one, "...idleness, intemperance, gambling, poverty and ruin." He drops the sheet back into the box and spreads his hands wide, "It tells you right there on every square when you have to go back or forward, Ezra, it's pretty obvious."

"Obvious to Mr Milton Bradley..." Ezra picks up the lid of the box, "...of Springfield Massachusetts, perhaps, but not to a man of any degree of worldly experience." He places the lid back on the box with obvious disdain.

"C'mon, Ezra, it's just a game," JD cajoles. "At least you didn't land on the 'Suicide' square and have to leave the game like Chris did. Just spin the teetum again."

"If you insist, Mr Dunne, but it is a tee-totum, not a teetum and yet another illustration of my point. If this were truly a game of chance it would use a pair of dice to direct play rather than this..." he spins the small six-sided top between the fingers of both hands, frowning, "...poor excuse for a numerical selector."

"Wouldn't want to corrupt the masses by using dice now would we Ezra?" Buck chimes in, relishing the playful banter. "Never know what terrible consequences that would have. Come on, quit teasing the kid and give it a spin."

Ezra tosses a mock glare at Buck but he spins the wheel anyway, and it's JD who leans forward to move his counter along the board. "That's better Ezra. Look, you're on 'Cupid' this time."

Ezra squints at the board again, trying to read sideways and then sits back, gold tooth glinting as he smiles at Buck. "Well, well. Mr Wilmington. I believe it is more your field of expertise to judge the veracity of this one--" he leans over and points to the square he's landed on. "Would you agree that in landing on this square one should proceed directly to 'Matrimony'?"

Buck lets his chair fall forward and does his best to swallow, rather than inhale, his whiskey, ignoring JD's snort. "Well now Ez, I'm not sayin' as how I'd be one to go that far, but I can see the concept might be appealin' to some."

They all laugh at that and the game continues. JD insisted they test it out now before he gives it to Casey for Christmas. It's no secret the kid's a little scared of Nettie, and since the traveling salesman conned him into buying it a few weeks ago, he's been worrying it's not fitting. Buck has to admit it's been an entertaining way to pass the afternoon.

He steals a glance at Chris where he's dozing in the easy chair, feeling mighty pleased his ploy of Steady Inebriation By Eggnog has worked so well. It's not easy to get one by on Chris, but he's not ashamed to admit to taking advantage of the man's distraction--his concern over Vin, getting the meal ready for their friends, and a desire to humor Buck definitely working in his favor. Chris has been mellow all day with no sign of the dark silences that are so characteristic of him when he's brooding.

He returns his attention to the game, feeling more than a little merry himself. "Looks like your turn Josiah," he says, smiling, "c'mon and spin the wheel. You got a bit of ground to make up there if you want to set yourself up for a happy old age."


	6. Chapter 6

He dismounts slowly, holding firm as Peso dances around; the independent beast not taking kindly to them stopping with his feed so close. Vin smiles and talks softly into the big ear as he loops the reins around a nearby bough, promising him an extra treat when they get home. When he finally settles Vin turns back to loosen the cinch, then finally walks forward to stare out at the view down the small rise.

He's still in the shadows of the last of the trees, but from here the cabin is easily visible in the clearing a half-mile or so ahead. The sun has dropped low enough to cast long shadows but the building itself is bathed in sunlight, a thin stream of smoke rising lazily from the stovepipe. Over in the coral the horses are crowded together, but he can make out Josiah, JD and Ezra's, in addition to Chris's bay and Buck's big gray. Nathan must have already left--not surprising if he means to ride as far as the village before nightfall.

It's reassuring to know that the others are where he expects them to be and he turns back to retrieve what he needs from his saddlebag. There's plenty of kindling in easy reach and he soon has a small fire burning down, the coffee pot heating at its side.

It's soothing, this familiar routine, and he squats by the side of the fire to add more fuel, using a stick to poke extra coals under the pot. He could as easy head on in and have his coffee with his friends but it's not in his nature to rush and there's no harm in taking a little extra time.

He needs to think some more anyway.

He's not sure what's come over him, these past months. First Charlotte, now this, seems he's making a habit of impossible relationships. And what the fuck does he know about relationships anyway? He's spent most of his adult life holding himself apart from other people not indulging in something that'll as like get him run out of town as give him any pleasure.

Charlotte was like a bolt from the blue--passion, lust for sure, but all of it born of a fire that couldn't be sustained. He cared for her, really did, but they were both swept up in a moment that had no place in the light of day.

But as much as that brief indulgence had no future, it at least led to what he has now. His mouth tugs up at the corner and he shakes his head--who'd have ever known Buck would see through him so clearly or that Larabee could be such a possessive bastard?

Buck seeing through him--maybe he should've guessed that once the man started lookin' so close. Larabee possessive, though? The way he lets Buck run wild? But he can't deny it's there--for him, for Buck, for the things Chris wants. Vin hasn't asked and likely never will, how Chris and Buck have settled so amicably in the face of how damned different each is from the other. Just watching the way they are together tells him all he needs to know about the secrets and unsaid promises that bind them. And he knows it too, from the way those same promises keep getting made to him.

Them two couldn't seem more different on the surface, and what he's found between them less likely, but when the campfire's laid or the door to that tiny cabin closed, their similarities show: Buck able to keep quiet for more than a few minutes at a time, satisfied looks and smiles bouncing from him with little or no cause; Chris actually talking, short one-sided conversations about his day, about a view he's found on a hilltop or a need to stock up as the weather turns. The way they work together at small chores, or work together on him--that isn't something he ever thought to imagine.

What he has with the two of them is different, stronger, somehow more real, even if it doesn't come easy to him to settle into it. How is it possible to feel so unsure about something so good? Too much too soon, maybe--the stark contrast between his past and his present casting a shadow he's afraid to step into?

But there's no denying the strength of the pull to all of those men in the cabin down the hill. They've been through a lot together, forged a friendship stronger than anything he's known--Chris and Buck, in particular, making a place for him where he fits. And he does fit; better than he'd ever have had the balls to hope.

Tilting his head he smiles and reaches for the pot, silently acknowledging the resolution he's been moving toward all day. His ma always told him that it's best to enjoy what you have and not be thinking too much on what might be.

It's been a good day, and on this day he knows that what he has is enough.


	7. Chapter 7

"Vin's back!" JD's head is only in the room long enough to get the words out, then he's off and gone with only the bang of the door to mark his passing.

Chris is awake and sliding forward to stand before he realizes, but he pauses as Buck's eyes draw his.

Fuck.

He hates that Buck knows him inside and out. He's got that stupid 'Can't even wait that long?' look on his face and it's enough to make him sink back in the chair. He's scowling, he knows it, but if Buck can wait for Vin to get inside, then so can he.

He can hear them coming from the moment they hit the porch--JD's chatter and the low answering laugh--but when the pair of them step into the room his eyes are only for the man whose arm is slung around JD's shoulders.

Vin is glowing. There's no other word for it. Face pink, hair all over the place and eyes that are for damn sure sparkling. The recent shadows are barely visible and it's a stark reminder of how absent their Vin has been this past week.

Their eyes meet across the room and the smile that comes back to him is something to see. It's joy, assurance and belonging, all wrapped up in that crooked grin and those shining eyes. He'd like to bottle it and keep it safe so he can take it out when he needs to know the world is all right.

Funny how he's almost forgotten that deep down inside Vin knows how to be happy. He doesn't really need people, or places, or things, he can do it on his own and he shares that with them--with him and Buck. Him and Buck and Vin, together--it warms him more than all the eggnog in the world ever could to wrap himself around that thought.

Then Vin's eyes slide away to seek out Buck and God, he wishes they were here alone. Because all of a sudden he really needs to get them somewhere quiet.

He sneaks a quick look at Buck where he's sprawled at the table and it's all he can do to not laugh out loud, because the look on Buck's face has got to match his perfectly. It's the look Buck has when he's looking at something real, something permanent. It's the look he has when he's looking at Chris. It speaks of more than dalliance--it speaks of a feeling that echoes in Chris's gut when he looks at Vin these days. Who ever knew they were both so gone?

He shifts and stands to break the moment because the way Buck's staring, he's a little worried he might forget they have company and have Vin pressed against the wall any second. What's between the three of them is private and not for common knowledge; not even with the rest of these men he's come to trust like brothers.

JD has already bounded inside and Vin is still as Chris approaches. Their eyes lock and he returns Vin's smile, and his breath catches in his throat when fingers trail over his belly as Vin brushes by. It's nothing, a fleeting pressure, yet it's everything that matters. Hard to believe he was asleep 10 minutes ago, when his blood is racing fast enough to steal his breath.

Then he's at the stove moving the coffee pot back over the heat and looking back as Vin sweeps Buck's legs off the spare chair to sit and everyone seems to be talking at once.

It's strange how between one moment and the next things can suddenly slide into place--make more sense.

What's going on with Vin isn't about him, or Buck, or even the three of them together. It's just Vin's choice, what he needs. It's as simple and complex as that. Vin might still go away, like he's been thinking, and much as he hates it, Chris has no real choice other than to trust that decision.

But there's a time and a place for worry and fear and that time is not now, because he knows deep down inside that Vin won't ever really leave them. He might come and go, there'll be things he needs to take care of by himself, but he'll always come back and settle into the place that's his as long as they make sure he knows it's there.

This day is what he has right now, and for now it has to be enough.


	8. Chapter 8

"Go on inside, I'll just take care of business."

Buck is already rubbing his hands together and jostling JD in out of the cold, and only Vin looks over and nods as the sound of Ezra and Josiah's horses fades into the dark.

Chris shakes his head and moves into the shadows of the trees at the back of the cabin, making a determined effort to damp down the anticipation that has been building since Vin arrived home.

Vin is staying, he can feel it. It's plain he's made his decision and if he were leaving, he'd be distracted by trying to find the words to explain. Instead he's more like his old self than he has been for weeks, slipping into banter with the boys and smiling all the way up to his eyes.

He steadies himself with one hand against the broad trunk of a tree and uses the other to open his buttons. He's half hard and groans in relief as the hot stream hits the ground.

JD's staying the night so as he can go straight to Nettie's in the morning so there'll be nothing going on tonight. Vin and JD will sleep in front of the stove and him and Buck will share the bed. Nothing odd about that, it's not like they haven't all shared one another's bedrolls at some point or other while out on the trail, they'd freeze their balls off some nights if they didn't. But the way he's feeling, keeping his hands to himself will be a challenge even though Buck, he knows, would rather chew on a cactus tip than have to explain something like that to the kid.

Distracted, he doesn't register the silent approach, starting at the softly spoken words.

"Need a hand there, cowboy?"

Slender hands snake around his waist and settle over his belt, then pause as if waiting for permission.

"Thought you'd never ask," he answers, swaying back against the warm presence, anticipation surging into lust in a heartbeat.

Soft hair and warm lips tickle his ear as the hands efficiently deal with his buckle, separating leather and metal and making enough space to slip inside. The first contact with his hard flesh makes his stomach muscles contract and he lets his head fall back against the solid shoulder behind.

"Best deal with this before you're spooned up with Buck tonight," Vin murmurs as one hand cups his balls, the other settling into place around his hard length, "else you'll find yourself on that nag of yours followin' Ezra and Josiah back into town."

He drags in a shallow breath, almost lost in the sensation of firm strokes over his flesh. "Like to see anyone try and kick me out of my own cabin," he grates out only barely registering the chuckle from behind.

Then all he knows is the steadying warmth of Vin behind him, the movement of Vin's calloused palm on his length and the sound of his own harsh breathing; it's almost embarrassing how fast his balls tighten. The cupping hand moves to brace his waist while the other continues to stroke and he comes hard, hips jerking against the steadying hand as he spills into the dirt.

"Got yourself a hair trigger there, Chris," Vin laughs, breathless against his ear, not bothering to keep the desire from his voice. Chris knows if it weren't so dark he'd be able to see Vin's dilated pupils and the pulse pound at his throat.

Turning, he presses Vin against the rough bark and raises both hands to his face. Feeling his way in the dark he strokes his thumbs over high cheekbones and then bows his head, unerringly finding the laughing mouth.

His lips are tingling when he finally pulls back and he reaches for Vin's groin, but he's surprised when a strong hand closes over his wrist.

"I'm good Chris. Rather wait till we got time to do it right." The husky voice flows over him raising goose bumps on his skin. And what exactly does it say about him that he's happy enough for a quick pull in the dirt when Vin and Buck of all people are both able to wait? He laughs, low, not caring a damned bit what it says, pulse already rising at the promise of what's to come.

He moves his hands back to Vin's face and kisses him again, more gently this time. "You okay?" he queries when he pulls away, stroking a thumb over the stubbled cheek, wishing he could see Vin's eyes.

"Well," Vin pauses, sounding thoughtful and Chris's heart skips a beat at the hesitation. "Aside from the fact that it's JD I'll be sleepin' with tonight, you mean?"

Chris laughs at the wry drawl, feeling the knot in his chest loosen with his lover's playfulness.

It's enough.

He's had more reason in his life than most to lack trust in the future but he knows, on this day, he need only trust the present.

\--the end--

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